


Sick

by moonwillow27458



Series: Disordered [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e19 Folsom Prison Blues, Gen, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester Has an Eating Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonwillow27458/pseuds/moonwillow27458
Summary: During their short stint in prison, Sam decides he can't eat the food there. He doesn't really want to eat after, either but Dean is more than certain that Sam has to eat.
Series: Disordered [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003455
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	Sick

**Author's Note:**

> Again, graphic depictions of eating disorders in this, please don't read ahead if this could be triggering. I really don't beat around the bush, it is just straight up disordered thoughts all the way through

He felt sick.

The prison smelled like sweat and damp and Sam felt a little like he was drowning in a swamp. There were prisoners who could have been bog people, mummified, like they’d been there for far too long. Everyone in there was only half alive. Sam included. Sam, sick to his stomach, empty since Gordon started chasing them, was probably the most dead of them all.

So when they stepped foot in the cafeteria, more damp and must, Sam wasn’t sure he could eat.

And it wasn’t the same as he had been. Not the same shit that Dean called _anorexia._ He just felt sick. And gross. And the prison didn’t serve food fit for human consumption anyway. The chicken dumped on his tray was like rubber. Bounced a little when it hit the plastic. Sam cringed, but Dean seemed happy enough with it.

They talked over the plan. Or Dean talked, Sam argued, only half paying attention. He couldn’t look at Dean, eyes on his food, fork sorting through it, cutting spaghetti into confetti, nothing he could really eat. Poked at the chicken and _God,_ it couldn’t be real. He decided, not because he was anorexic but because he had standards, that he’d wait until they were on the road again for food. Maybe grab a roadside hot dog.

In the end, Sam agreed to the plan. The quicker they got the job done, the quicker he could eat. 

“You know this chicken ain’t half bad,” Dean said.

Sam pushed his tray across the table. Was glad the acidic spaghetti sauce was away from him. He didn’t want to think about what it would do to his stomach if he ate it.

“You can have mine.”

And Dean smiled because the man was a bottomless pit. Could eat forever and never be full. Was halfway through scraping Sam’s leftovers to his own plate before his smile faltered.

“This isn’t your eating thing, is it?” He asked. Didn’t wait for an answer. “Because you know it’s okay to eat, right? You’re okay, you’re good, Sammy.”

“I’m just not hungry, Dean, probably just nerves from being here, okay?” And Sam tried to force a laugh. “You saw the size of my cellmate.”

“You need to eat.”

“I’ll eat tomorrow.”

And the subject was dropped, because it was an argument neither of them could win. Dean couldn’t force food down Sam’s throat, not when there were guards and cameras all over the joint. Couldn’t risk going to solitary. Not when they had a job. So Dean dropped it, would ask Sam about eating in the morning, and Sam would worry about new excuses then. 

And when it came, Dean had been in solitary. Sam lied and said he ate. The oatmeal they served at breakfast was a lot nicer. And Dean believed him, thankfully, because Sam loved oatmeal – loved how light of a meal it was – so why would he lie? 

Dean trusted Sam much more than he should.

By the time they left the prison, FBI most wanted, _you’re a bad person Sam,_ he was starving. Stomach crawling up his throat. Needing something, anything.

They didn’t stop for food ‘til they were out of state. Sam felt so hollow that maybe he could float up to Heaven. Had been napping on and off since he sat down in the passenger seat. Head against cool glass. And Dean noticed how empty he was, waking him up gently at a gas station with the promise Sam could eat as much as he wanted.

And he didn’t think he wanted much until he set eyes on the snack aisle.

But he couldn’t, had to be good. Couldn’t pick at all the snacks he wanted. Felt sick as he stared out the candy selection because Dean was watching and Dean knew that he was bad and Sam’s head was spiralling. Could feel the ground wobbling below him, ears ringing. And Dean’s hand was on Sam’s shoulder. _You okay man?_ And Sam couldn’t answer because he wasn’t, but he would never let Dean know it was getting bad again. 

So he picked up the closest bar of chocolate, a Milky Way, thrust it in Dean’s hands.

“I’m gonna see if they have any sandwiches or whatever,” he said, fake smile.

They did, had a wide selection of limp bread stuffed with whatever. Wouldn’t be much healthier than the prison cafeteria. Wasted all that time fasting, waiting for something that wasn’t even good, _wasn’t that fucking typical._ He picked up a chicken salad sub that he hoped wouldn’t give him food poisoning. Or maybe it would be better if it did, could throw up without Dean noticing why. _You’re sick._

And yeah, he really was.

Dean was already at the counter, wallet out. The counter that was stacked high with snack foods; chocolate bars, chips, jerky, trail mix, _oh God there was a slushie._ And Dean, Dean was handing over a wad of cash that Deacon had left them. That was theirs. All of it, just for Sam and Dean. 

It was hard to hide the way his stomach lurched.

Skin crawling, they got back into the Impala are Dean handed Sam their bag full of junk food. He had an expectant look on his face, Sam didn’t know what Dean expected of him but it wasn’t good. When he picked out his sad little sandwich, Dean shook his head.

“Uh-uh, nope, you’re eating something with calories, Sammy,” Dean said. “I know you weren’t eating in the joint, you gotta eat something now, you promised me.”

And that was a lie, because Sam never promised anything but. “I can’t eat all this!”

“I’m not asking you to eat it all but,” Dean licked his lips. “We can’t have you starving yourself, not now we’re on FBI’s most wanted. So pick something and eat it, we’re not moving until you do.”

“Dean, I’m fine.”

“Fine my ass, you nearly passed out in there!” And Dean was slamming his hands on the steering wheel. So hard the car shook, and maybe Sam did too. “I know, I know what a relapse is. You’re relapsing, and I don’t know how to fix it.” _How to fix you._

“I’m not- I’m not relapsing, I just _feel sick,_ ” Sam argued, because that’s the only way he could explain it. He could pretend that feeling sick and being sick were two different things. 

“Then we gotta work out why you feel sick, don’t we?” Dean said. He was less angry, shoulders weren’t rigid like they had been. He pat Sam on the shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay, okay? Just- just eat something small for now and we’ll figure it out. But you’ll be okay.”

And Sam wanted to believe him so much that he popped open a bag of trail mix. Ate it all, M&Ms and all, tried not to think about the sticky blue residue on his palm.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!!
> 
> Please please please if you are feeling how Sam feels, let someone around you know. Eating disorders are the biggest killer of all mental illnesses, please keep yourself safe!
> 
> If there's anything in particular you would like to see in this verse, please let me know!


End file.
